Just For The Record
by chemm80
Summary: Sometimes research turns up a little something extra. Rated M for explicit sex and language. Written by request for pdragon76. If you're looking for schmoop, romance or plot, you've got the wrong fic.


Just For The Record by chemm80

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Dean already knows all he needs to about the life, times and estate of one long-deceased Warren A. Daltrey, everything he came into this little county records office looking to find. And the actual finding of it was just as annoying and tedious as Dean could have predicted. But there's one thing about research—it occasionally turns up a pleasant surprise, an unexpected perk that kind of makes up for all the lost hours.

Dean's sort of counting on one of those extra special bonus gifts today. She has a nametag that says "Pam" and she's been extremely attentive and helpful during his visit this afternoon. Pam is currently leaning over the desk next to him, absolutely _fine_ ass pushed out behind her, on display. Dean's been accomplishing little _but_ checking it out of the corner of his eye for about the last ten minutes.

He blames the pants. They might be oh-so-proper for a day at the office— probably are, for all Dean knows—but they're made of some flimsy, clingy stuff that isn't hiding a thing, just riding every smooth curve, making him wonder how the pale skin underneath would look if they just _happened_ to fall off, imagine how the smooth round of her would feel in the palm of his hand…but first things first. He wants to take his time unwrapping this pretty package.

It's hot and sticky in the cramped little office, rattling air conditioner working overtime but not doing dick against the onslaught of the Georgia afternoon sun on the cheap metal building. Dean's leaning over the cluttered desk with his left hand braced on it, drops of sweat tickling down between his shoulder blades, and he's just assuming he doesn't stink too bad (yet) because _Jesus Christ, it's hot as fuck in here _and Pam doesn't seem to mind him standing so close.

Dean's turned a little toward her like he's actually listening to her read through the long list of dates and names. And he absolutely was listening, at first, but she's got these big green eyes and she keeps flicking them sideways at him from under long lashes and there's no way that's an accident. Neither is the shot he's getting of the curve of her breasts down the gaping neckline of her shirt, he's pretty sure. And he'd really like to find out if those full pink lips are as soft as they look.

She has her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail and the short hairs at the back of her neck have drawn up against the moisture into tight little curls. He eases his hand up to touch one, slow, like he's trying not to scare her or something, then runs his finger across her damp hairline and down the side of her neck. She stops talking and goes dead still at his touch, and this is the point where he always thinks of a nervous horse. Will she stand for him, or bolt? It's as intense as any hunt—make or break right here.

Dean shifts his body a little closer as he runs his thumb up the edge of her jaw and down her neck and he watches her, waits to see if she'll pull away, or even take a swing at him like he's had happen once or twice. But she doesn't move away, just gives a visible full-body shiver, waits for what's coming next. _Oh yeah._ _It's on._

He leans in with his hand on her neck, presses an open-mouthed kiss just under her left ear, tastes salt, breathes in the sweet-soapy scent of her and then exhales across her damp neck. She shivers again and turns into his hand; he reels her in with his arm. Her mouth _is_ really soft and it's hot on his as she opens for him and he kisses her just short of too hard, tongue on hers, sliding out and over her lips and back in between. She's tasting him back, curling her tongue around his, seems to want to go slow and Dean is just fine with this agenda. Or he is until she takes a double handful of the front of his shirt and makes a soft, greedy little noise into his mouth, and suddenly he's a lot less interested in _slow _andhe pushes his hips against her, lets her feel him fully hard. She gives a throaty gasp and pushes back.

They're both sweaty now and breathing hard and Dean thinks it's time to clutch and shift up a gear. He unfastens her pants and pushes them down, hands running down the firm cheeks of her ass, and _God, _it_ does _feel good, and he squeezes gently and pulls her into him, rolls his hips up against her. She eases back and slips out of the pants, kicking out of them and her shoes as they hit the floor. She pulls at the bottom of his shirt and slides her hands up under it to his shoulder blades, then runs her nails down his back, and it's his turn to shiver. She smiles and flicks her tongue across his bottom lip, sucks on it, keeps her mouth moving with his while she unfastens his jeans and pulls them open, reaches her hand in and slides it down the length of him, the whole maneuver a fucking feat of coordination he fully appreciates.

He grips her ass in both hands and lifts her up against him, groans when she wraps her legs around him and rolls her hips. _Jesus,_ she's wet and hot against his dick _through_ her panties and he wants more, wants his hands on her, wants his mouth on her skin, fucking everywhere. His knees shake a little as he holds her against him with one hand and shoves at the crap on the desk with the other, moving what he can with one swipe and to hell with the rest.

He sets her down on the edge of the desk and she pulls her top off over her head. He reaches behind her, mouthing at her neck on the way, pops the catch of her bra with a practiced flick of thumb and twist of wrist, then pulls back as she lets it fall off her shoulders, meets her slight smile and raised eyebrow with a smirk of his own. He fits his mouth over one pink nipple, pulls off wetly just to see it reddened and hard, smiles slightly in satisfaction as her eyes close. He works her like that, teasing and sucking at her breasts until she's gasping and her chest is heaving under his mouth and he starts working his way down. She leans back onto her hands, panting, tip of her tongue sliding out over her lips, and she looks so goddamned good like that, legs spread and wanting, he has to take a deep breath and get hold of himself.

He lifts her hips and sets her down closer to the edge of the desk. Her scent is a sharp tang in his throat, and he hooks his fingers in the sides of her panties, says "Off," deep and rough, all he can manage right now, and she raises her hips to help. He tosses the damp scrap of fabric aside and leans in to taste, liquid sound of lips and tongue over smooth skin, heat and wet pouring out of her and soft moans and girl-scent washing over him and he palms his dick just to steady himself. He licks and sucks, up and down and inside, until she's trembling and pushing against his face and _Jesusfuck—it's so hot_.

He really doesn't want to stop, but _shit, can't keep leaning over like this—poor planning, Dean—but hell, this ain't no luxury suite…what's it...okay, chair, now_. He pulls back a little, and Pam whimpers. Dean's holding her with one arm and flailing behind him with the other, finally makes contact with the fucking chair and hooks it up under him.

_Better_.

Dean feels her eyes on him then. He looks up slow, meets her gaze and holds it, lets his intent—his _want—_show through. Her mouth falls open on a gasp just from the look and _holy shit, _that's just _it—God, it's too much_—he licks down and up once, then fastens his teeth gently over her clit and sucks, slips his fingers inside her, out and in again, finds a rhythm and keeps it. It's so damned good, he feels like he could go on like this for hours, but it's not long before she arches and cries out, soft sounds that hit him like an electric charge, and she rides it out, tensing and quivering against his face.

He kisses open-mouthed against her belly a couple of times, then sits back, giving her a few seconds to come down, slips his jeans down and a condom on. She sits up then and she looks just too fucking perfect, her eyes half closed, parted lips and legs still open, thighs shining wet with her slick.

"C'mere," he rasps and she pushes forward off the desk. He reaches for her, catches her, and pulls her into his lap so she's straddling him on the chair.

She looks down at his cock, rock hard between them, runs her tongue across her lips and folds her fingers around it, runs her thumb over the head. He shuts his eyes as his hips jerk up and a grunt slips out—'cause _holy fuck—_it just about ends him right there. His head falls back; he's just trying to breathe through it. When he opens his eyes she's leaning closer and he pulls her in and kisses her hard, fucking his tongue into her mouth, deep and wet and hungry. He knows she can taste herself on him when she pulls back and grins dirty at him, then she lunges for his mouth again. He reaches a hand down between them and puts his hand over hers on his cock, rubs the tip against her before he pulls her forward and up and pushes inside, dragging a moan from them both.

She digs her fingers into his shoulders and puts her mouth to his ear, says low and husky, "Oh, God yes…fuck me…" and it sends a shockwave rippling out from his balls and down the length of his dick.

"Fuck yeah…feel so good…come on…," spill of sound against her neck, broken, hitched nonsense, doesn't know or care what he's saying.

_God, _feels so good, focus narrowed to sensation of wet heat squeezing him, not sure how long he can last. He reaches between them and slicks his finger, then slides it up over her clit, wants to feel her come again, inside her, and she grips his shoulders and rides him harder. She's bucking and panting and the goddamned noises she makes are too much, he's losing coordination—_not gonna make it_—when she tenses and clenches around him, but it's the fucking gorgeous look on her face that tips him over the edge with her, and he groans low in his chest and comes in sharp bright bursts that leave him shaking and spent.

She shudders and pants for a minute, breath hot against his neck, then leans back in and kisses him.

"Mmm," she says, as she pulls back to look at him. "That was nice."

"Oh yeah." He kisses her again.

"So," she says, fingers in his hair, still a little breathless, "we have this customer service questionnaire…on a scale of one to five, in which five is 'extremely satisfied'…"

Dean snorts and squeezes her against him as they both crack up


End file.
